


You Know I Don't Ask For Much

by winterlive



Series: Work It Out Trilogy [1]
Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-17
Updated: 2009-05-17
Packaged: 2017-10-26 17:20:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/285901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterlive/pseuds/winterlive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the press junket for the first movie, Zach loses the key card to his hotel room.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Know I Don't Ask For Much

**Author's Note:**

> Lots and lots of explicit - though imaginary - het with Zoe. seriously, people, this is unrepentantly filthy. you've been warned. Much love to jamesinboots & seperis for the 5am audiencing & beta.

The junket is _work_. For all that he reminds himself that other people have it worse, that other jobs are harder, still Chris can't help but be overwhelmed. One week Sydney, next week New Zealand, and it only picks up pace from there.

Kuwait is one of the best stops - more than anywhere else, it's like the Star Trek Circus pulls into town. All his partners in crime have their own language, their own worries, the show must go on; meanwhile the guys in fatigues are living a way more serious kind of life. Chris has never felt luckier to do what he does, and he tries to thank each soldier that talks to him. It's a great experience and he'll remember it.

But then they take off for London, and by the time the plane touches down he couldn't tell you what day it is, let alone what time. He wants to find a hotel room and sleep in it for two whole days, but of course there are interviews and talk shows, print and video and makeup and rehearsed answers to deliver with a fresh spin about forty different times.

He has never in his life had to do anything like this. It's just as much a part of the job as delivery and blocking, but this is really on a whole new level. Mostly he can handle himself, but there are times that the only thing that keeps him in it is Zach.

Say he's on hour 14 and all he's had since waking up is a gallon of coffee and a pastrami on rye, and a woman with too much makeup on asks him if he's intimidated to be stepping into William Shatner's shoes (14th time today). If it weren't for the familiar, steady presence beside him, he might betray how tired he is, he might stumble and give them something they'd actually use. But no, he's rescued from that. Zach says something smooth and calm, like he's reading from a prompter. It's the same voice he used at one in the morning when J.J. said just one more take, just one more take, okay guys, that was awesome, now if we could just get one more goddamn take - there was Zach. _Okay, J.J. Just tell us what you need._

It was like if Zach wasn't getting upset, nobody should. The Vulcan kept the room temperature down; they'd all joked.

Everybody's on the tour except Leonard. Nobody'd ask Leonard to do this kind of thing. But Karl and John come, and Zoe and Eric. Now and then they'll get Bruce and Anton to come. Simon was a fucking riot in New Zealand; Karl had taken them to this bar one night and a bunch of them closed it down. If Chris was going to be honest with himself, he'd say it was about then that he first noticed it.

Maybe it was because Zoe'd spent so much more time with Zach than with anybody else. But no, Chris himself had had spent plenty of wee morning hours trying to get her to laugh between takes, and she'd definitely laughed. They're all friends, here. He isn't lying when he tells people that the cast are all great people, that they all get along - he hates to think what it would have been like if any of them had been prissy or standoffish. Zoe certainly isn't like that; she's a fun girl and he likes her. Yet he can't help but notice that no matter where they are, no matter what they're doing, Zoe always seems to be hanging around with Zach.

Paris is great, when they arrive. He and John play a game where they try to speak French to bartenders and order the most deranged drink they can dream up, and whoever resorts to English first has to drink it. Karl and Zach monopolize the pool tables and won't stop punning, which would be annoying but they all really like French wine, so it's always hilarious. Zoe isn't around as much because she's a girl and this is Paris, and while Chris does miss her, there's some obscure part of him that feels a kind of satisfaction. He chalks it up to getting in some quality man time - there are certain kinds of asshole you just can't be if there's a girl around.

One typical night, Karl finds this little hole in the wall bar for them to descend on. John runs into an old friend almost as soon as they walk in, so he's gone. Karl himself has a girlfriend back in L.A., and just as it's getting late he says he wants to call her. This leaves Chris to get Zach back to the hotel; he's been into the tequila tonight, which is a great way to get a lap full of Quinto if you want it. The three of them get a cab back together, and Chris hauls Zach out of the backseat when they arrive. Karl's got his phone open and a cigarette in his mouth immediately, which Chris smiles at.

"See you tomorrow," Zach slurs, and he takes a step toward the front doors before tripping over his sneakers.

Chris's reflexes save the pavement from some nasty stubble burn. "Whoa, buddy, I gotcha."

"Shit." Zach rubs his eye and holds onto Chris's shoulders with one arm. "I'm sorry, man. You know I never get this trashed."

"I know," Chris says, grinning because it's really true. Mister Collected is all about appropriate boundaries, and Chris takes it as a mark of real friendship that Zach's got blind drunk enough with him to cross some of 'em. "Come on, I'll make sure you get to your room without accidentally giving yourself a concussion."

"Thank you," Zach says, a bubble of laughter working its way through his words.

Chris puts his arm around Zach's waist and starts the marching order. He gets them into the elevators and up to their floor without attracting too much attention, and then they spend a minute sorting through Zach's wallet trying to find the key card. He's got six of them in there, and Chris calls him a thief and a reprobate while Zach tries to protest his innocence. _I just forgot, I was busy, you're taking advantage of my inebriation to score points._

Chris forgoes asking how he can say words like 'inebriation' while he's drunk off his ass in favor of arching an eyebrow. "You're saying I'm taking advantage of you so I can score?"

Zach collapses against the door in a fit of giggles, and Chris pushes card after card in the door slot. Nothing fits, and none of them look like his own key card anyway, so he sighs. "Fuck it, you'll just have to bunk with me."

"See!" Zach points at him, his dark lashes drooping onto his cheeks. His voice is blurred with sugar and booze, and he crashes into Chris again, slings his arm back over Chris's shoulder. "I told you. Masher. Cad."

"I'm the captain of a starship," Chris informs him, dragging him down the hall and managing his own key card at the same time. "I can have anybody I want."

"Not me," Zach mumbles against his shoulder, whisper soft. "That's fraternizing."

Chris shoulders his door open and steps into the darkened room. The cool air hits his cheeks like a slap; he didn't realize they were so warm. Everywhere that isn't where Zach's touching feels cold now, and shivery. "You fraternize with _Nyota_ ," he says, and is surprised to hear such resentment in his voice.

If Zach hears it, he doesn't seem to care. He laughs again, warm against Chris's neck. "She could kick your ass, man."

"She could kick all our asses," Chris agrees, and drops Zach onto the bed. He steps away and into the bathroom, and feels a pulse of relief that he doesn't choose to examine. He wets down a facecloth and runs it across his forehead, his cheeks, and feels a bit better for it. He fills both of the glasses there with water, downs one himself and refills it before taking the other out to Zach.

In the room, Zach's sneakers are haphazardly strewn at the foot of the bed, and his shirt has found its way onto a chair. He's sprawled across the bed with his arms wide and his mouth soft, enjoying the air from the vent above him. While this isn't the first time Chris has seen Zach shirtless, it's the first time he's put himself on such display. Zach has certain parts of his life he keeps very private, and Chris has never felt it necessary to pry. It's part of why they get along so well.

This is... new.

Chris narrows his eyes thoughtfully as he crosses the room, puts the water on the nightstand and sits on the bed. "Can I ask you a personal question?" he says.

Zach gives him a lazy, warm smile. "Of course. Anything."

"Are you and Zoe, y'know..." He lets it trail off suggestively.

Zach's smile turns subtle, twists a little until there's a shade of wickedness in it. His eyes slant away, and he picks himself up to lie on his side, make room on the bed. Chris notices that his abs demarcate with the movement, that the dark hair on his chest makes the soft shadows deeper. "Are we... what? If you can't say it, I'm not telling you."

Chris focuses on one pale wrist, where it rests along his belt. "Are you seeing each other?"

"We see each other all the time," Zach grins. "I'm drunk, you gotta do better than that."

Chris rolls his eyes and flops down beside him, thankful to be able to look up at the ceiling. "Fine. Are you _dating_?" He makes the mistake of looking over at Zach for an answer, and feels his stomach lurch at how close they are. If he concentrates, he can feel the warmth under his arm where Zach was lying just a moment ago.

"No," Zach smiles, and pushes at him gently. "But that's not what you wanted to ask. Go ahead, Chris. What do you really want to know?" His voice is deep and deathly serious, the kind you'd use if you wanted to get in somebody's pants.

There's a fair share of alcohol in Chris's own body, but that's not why he doesn't put a stop to all this. He knows that if he gives even a subtle hint that he's uncomfortable, Zach will close down like he was never open, and they don't ever have to talk about it again. He knows he can trust Zach with that. So he licks his lips, images swimming in his mind, and he asks his question. "Are you fucking?"

Zach purses his lips, ooh. "Such an ugly word for such a delectable event. I take it you haven't."

"No," Chris says, knitting his brows, looking away. "Course not."

"No," Zach agrees. "You probably figure she wouldn't go for you. Zoe's so elegant and sure of herself, she's a fucking _ballerina_ for God's sake, and you're -"

"Some asshole from L.A.," Chris laughs, feeling understood. It's true, someone like Zoe's out of his league.

Zach edges a little closer to him, leaning down to whisper his secret. "But you'd like to. You've thought about it."

"Yeah," Chris nods, shifting his hips a little to relieve some pressure. He's a bit breathless now, and lowers his voice to match Zach's. "I mean, shit, who wouldn't?"

"Well," Zach muses. "I'm a gentleman."

"And an officer," Chris grins.

"An officer and a gentleman," Zach laughs. "So even if I were fucking our dear Miss Saldana, I could never tell you."

The way his voice cradles the word 'fucking', like it's some kind of romantic endearment, makes Chris shiver. "Air conditioning's too high," he mumbles, his cheeks hot.

Again, Zach ignores him completely. "But I can tell you this. If I _were_ to find myself in the enviable position of having those perfect thighs wrapped around my head, I could tell you that she tasted like some kind of rich, heavy, deeply erotic dessert that melts on your tongue the minute you open your mouth."

Chris immediately closes his eyes and pictures it: flawless skin in the hollow of her hips, lighter than the coal-black hair that tickled her belly. Strong hands pushed up under tender knees, holding her open, and her toes curled against his shoulders as she gasped and pushed against his mouth. In his jeans, Chris's cock makes its approval known in no uncertain terms. He tries to get his breath. It takes a little more shifting, and he doesn't dare take too long before he coughs a little, to clear his throat. He keeps his eyes closed tightly. "What else?" he asks, his voice wavering. "Hypothetically, I mean."

There's a shift on the bed, just small. "Hypothetically," Zach muses. "She'd be the kind of woman that grips your hair, so she can put you where she wants you. She'd get so wet, when you tasted her, that your chin would be soaked by the time you were done."

Chris can't keep in a groan.

As if on cue, Zach chuckles deep in his chest. "She'd do that too," he says. "Moan and whimper for you, tell you how good you felt and how to eat her just a little bit better. She'd kick you in the ribs if you didn't go fast enough, and she'd come like a flower opening in the rain, go soft and warm and helpless under your tongue."

Moving before he thinks, Chris tugs the front of his jeans away from his body. When his wine-slowed brain catches up with his hands, he blushes hard. But if Zach has a problem with it, he figures it'll stop.

"Then," Zach murmurs, and Chris can almost hear him bare his teeth in savagery, "you could lay down over her. And you'd be so hard, Chris, but she'd need time, she'd beg you to just give her a minute. So you'd have to lie there over her hot, naked body, feel her shudder against you, riding against the wet heat of her, and you would have to wait."

"God dammit," Chris groans sincerely. He's seeing it dance against the back of his eyelids and it's killing him: Zach's beard against her dusky, pebbled nipples, his dick pressed against the slick of her pussy and his endless, intolerable patience. "I'm not great at waiting," he growls, because in this way Chris is nothing like his friend.

Zach, cruel son of a bitch that he is, shrugs. Chris can feel the shrug through the mattress. "It's that or jerk off alone."

"Fine," Chris says through his teeth. "Fine. I guess... for someone like that, I could do it."

"Because she's special," Zach says, light and soft as air.

Chris shrugs. "Because it's what I want," he corrects, and isn't even really sure what he means.

But his answer seems to please Zach, and he continues. "That's good. Someone like that, you have to appreciate her. Be considerate of what she needs."

"Yeah," Chris says, because the way Zach says those things, it sounds like something dirty.

"You need to do things just right," Zach murmurs, and shifts on the bed again.

Tempted, Chris cracks one eye open just a little and looks over. Zach has crooked one knee and is resting it on the bed, so the curve of his hip his blatant even in the low light. He's resting his head on his hand, an elbow planted in his pillow, and he's looking down the length of Chris's body and biting softly at one fingertip.

Chris quickly shuts his eyes again.

"But if you do," Zach continues. "If you treat a woman like that right, then she'll let you have what you want. First, she'll use her hands, both of them, so she can feel how much you want her."

"You'd think she'd know already," Chris grumbles.

"Oh, she does," Zach assures him. "But she wants to feel it herself, in her own palms. She'd rub her thumb under the head of your cock to see if you're wet for her like she's wet for you."

Chris bites back a gasp. He wonders if Zach is circumcised, decides he is because it's easier to picture if he matches Chris, and adjusts his mental image accordingly. For a bizarre second, that image is of himself pushing Zach back on the bed and seeing for himself.

Zach continues, his voice now getting lower, heavier, as though the unflappable Zachary is actually affected by something. "She'd tease you. As much herself as you, getting you anxious and wanting. She'd press you against her pussy, get you wet with her own body, and then she'd ask you if you wanted it. She'd make you say it, make you ask if you could fuck into her, get into her tight little pussy and -"

"Fuck it," Chris blurts out, and sits up. He has every intention of getting up, going straight to the bathroom and jerking off until he can't see straight, because nobody can be expected to just goddamn sit here through this.

"Chris."

The word stops him dead. The teasing bastard quality to Zach's voice has evaporated, and Chris can hear the sudden vulnerability thrumming through it.

"Stay," Zach says.

Chris turns and sees him looking at his feet, color high in his cheeks, his teeth worrying at his bottom lip. If Chris wanted to, he could pretend he'd never heard that word at all. Instead, he closes his eyes and slowly lays himself back down.

Zach clears his throat.

"Then what would she do?" Chris asked softly. He feels stupid, like any second Zach's going to remember what a dumb idea this is and go sleep in the lobby. He couldn't blame Zach if he did.

But instead, there's another shift on the bed, and fingers tugging at Chris's belt.

His brain catches fire. _Emergency,_ it insists. _Unauthorized shit is happening right now._ Shut up, he thinks at it, and fills it with pictures of naked Zoe. "Talk to me," he says aloud, and puts his hands on his stomach so they'll be out of the way.

"Um," Zach says, sounding breathless. "Chris, I..."

"I know," Chris tells him, feeling the teeth of his zipper part oh-so-carefully over his cock. "Just... like before. Don't think about it, just..."

"You want her," Zach starts, sounding hesitant. "You're hard for her, aren't you?"

Chris nods, unable to say anything just yet. Zach presses the palm of his hand against Chris's cock through his Calvins. Aroused so much that a simple touch like that is fucking excellent, Chris groans deep in his throat.

A little more steady now, Zach continues. "God, you _do_ want her. She'd hold you, maybe squeeze you a little, just to show you that she owns you."

Zach matches actions to words, and Chris hisses through his teeth at the flood that goes racing through his body, down his legs and up his spine. He bucks a little into Zach's warm hand, can't help it.

"I think," Zach tells him contemplatively, "that she'd make you lie down and take it. I think she'd ride you."

"Yeah," Chris growls, the image blinding him - Zoe's hair over her breasts, her hands pressing down on his chest. He presses his fingertips into his stomach, the way he would her hips.

At the same moment, Zach lifts his hand and pushes it underneath the elastic, coasts his hard, roughened fingers down the sensitive skin of Chris's belly. "She'd rub against you," Zach murmurs, pressing his fingers into the curve of hip, further down to cup his balls. "She'd use you to find her clitoris, maybe even get off like that on top of you before she'd let you inside. Can you feel her on you?"

Chris's cock is begging for Zach's hand, for skin. His belly's smeared with slick, he's been hard for what feels like ages, and he's suffocating in these jeans - he hooks his thumbs in the waistband and pushes all the fabric down to his thighs.

Zach startles a little at the sudden movement, but makes a pleased sound when he figures out what Chris is doing. "You're lucky she's not picky," Zach murmurs, back to his playful tone. "If she really were fucking you, Christopher, she'd want you naked."

At this point, Chris really doesn't need the goddamn metaphor anymore. But Zach sure seems to like it, so he says nothing and concentrates on not grabbing Zach's wrist and _making_ him do what he's been promising.

Zach trails those firm fingers along his cock, and it jumps at his hand. "So eager," Zach sighs. "She'd like that. It'd make her want you back, want to take you in her hand, or in her mouth."

Again, his cock leaps against Zach's fingers. Again, he feels like he's fucking melting. This time his mind isn't screwing around: Zach on his knees, Chris's hand in his black hair, the thrust of his hips just as lazy and heavy as he wanted to make it. Taking what he wants, instead of what he's given.

Trust Zach to read between the lines. "Is that what you want? Want her to suck you off?"

"Mm-hm," Chris manages to hum, pushing his hips up as subtly as he can. Zach takes pity and cradles Chris's dick in his hand, rubbing his thumb against the slick just like he said. Chris licks his lips and squeezes his eyes shut harder, trying to hold it in check.

"If you can stay still," Zach murmurs at the bottom of his volume. "Maybe she will. But if you thought you couldn't control yourself, I don't know. She might tie you down and make you beg."

"No time," Chris pants, trying very hard to still his hips. His dick is straining toward completion, his body urging him on, but Chris is a disciplined goddamn professional, and he doesn't move.

"Keep your eyes closed," Zach tells him softly, and there's a shift on the bed.

Chris obeys, and doesn't so much as breathe.

The first touch of Zach's tongue is like fire, and Chris's hand flashes down without his permission to wrap itself up in that perfectly-styled hair. He bucks his hips, he opens his eyes and looks down, and it's all the many things he's not supposed to do, but he can't help it. He can't fucking help it.

He is not expecting the stinging, vicious slap to the high, soft skin on his thigh. He jumps about a foot. "Ow, goddammit!"

Zach sits up and pins him with an arm, fixes him with this deadly glare that makes Chris's own eyes go wide. "You were told," Zach says furiously. With his free hand, he grips Chris's dick again, hard and sure.

Yep. Still hot.

Chris licks his lips again and tries not to buck his hips. "I'm sorry," he says, trying to look sincere.

"Are you _really_?" Zach sneers contemptuously, squeezing Chris hard. "I asked one simple thing."

Chris squeezes his eyes shut against the pleasure-pain boiling his blood. "I know," he gasps out. "I'm really sorry, Zach, please."

"Say it again," Zach demands, flicking his thumb over the head.

Chris doesn't pretend not to know what he means. "Please, Zach," he says, his voice tight and strained even to his own ears. "Please, I'm begging you."

The hand on him eases, slides up around the head of his dick and back down. The slick on those fingers makes the slide a bit easier, and Chris's head thumps back onto the pillow as he groans heavily. Zach's voice, when it comes, is right beside him. He can feel hot breath against his jaw. "Reach up with your hands, put them under your pillow, and hold them there. If you move them, I stop."

Chris hurries to obey, and grips his own wrists to ensure that they don't run away on him. He keeps his eyes closed too, if only because Zach never said to open them.

The bed shifts again as Zach kneels up, swings his thigh over Chris's and settles there. Chris's mind swims with the images Zach put there, of Zoe's bare skin, her waiting pussy. That, together with the pictures Chris's mind is conjuring of the many things Zach could do while straddling him, is enough to make him grip his own wrists tight.

There's a rustle of fabric, an unzipping. Zach shifts again, and then Chris is trying not to whine too loudly as liquid heat surrounds his cock. Zach's lips are gentle with him, sucking soft and wet, and he never said don't push your hips, he never said that.

Even so, it doesn't do much good; Zach only gets his fist around Chris and uses it to keep Chris from pushing too far. He jacks his fist, too, until his palm is slick with spit and come and Chris is thrashing around as best a guy can while pinned to the bed with promises.

He's so close to coming when Zach pulls his mouth away. "No no," he says, gulping in air. "No, please, Zach, please don't stop..."

But Zach isn't listening. He crawls back up Chris's body and settles on his thighs, then uses one hand to push Chris's t-shirt up. His nipples were already hard from the onslaught, and Zach's quick kisses only make them tighten and itch unbearably. He fights with his hands for a second before remembering that they're holding one another.

Zach's voice is bedrock deep. "Next time," he says, and Chris shudders to feel his hand again. Then, a new feeling: pressed against his dick is Zach's own, and his slick hand wraps around them both. He starts to stroke them together, long and fast and tight and so fucking good, and Chris throws away any inkling of giving a damn that he ever had. Just so long as Zach keeps doing this.

"Next time, Chris," Zach promises, his breath catching in his throat. "I will fuck you so hard your eyes roll back."

Damn if they don't roll back right there.

The orgasm that rips through his body is hollowing, shattering, leaving echoes to ripple through him in near painful aftershocks. He's not in control of his body for those moments, pushing his cock into Zach's hand and making noises he'll blush to remember later, his mouth wide open and his eyes unseeing. Zach's dick pulses against his, and they're slick with each other. Some drops have landed on Chris's chest, and as he regains his ability to think, he wonders whether he should wipe them away.

No, he decides with a smile, panting hard, his body buzzing. Zach didn't say he could move yet.

With an untranslatable sigh, his friend flops down beside him. They lie together for a while, and then Zach gets out of bed. Chris watches lazily as Zach skims out of his jeans and tosses them onto the chair, then pads around the bathroom, his hand already pushing at his hair.

Chris smiles at that, and enjoys the afterglow as Zach cleans up.

When the bathroom door opens again, Zach is bearing a clean cloth. He's the one to sit down on the bedside this time, and the cloth is clean and warm against Chris's belly, his chest. "You want to do the rest?" Zach asks softly, and Chris opens his eyes.

"You didn't say I could move," he notes, with a little mischief.

Zach lowers his eyes, looks away like he's embarrassed, but Chris can see the curve of his lips in a faintly sinister smile. "You can move if you want," Zach tells him.

Chris lets his wrists go and rubs them, then cleans himself up. "Drink that water," he demands, in the middle of the job. "I'm the one that's gotta spend all day with you tomorrow, and you are a royal pain in the ass when you're hung over."

"That's true," Zach concedes amiably, and puts down both glasses in quick succession as Chris shucks his jeans and shirt and climbs under the covers.

He curls up against a pillow and sighs contentedly. When the other side of the bed dips, it's a bit tentative, so Chris holds the covers open. "Don't be such a girl."

Zach climbs in and lies down. A couple seconds of silence pass, and then his soft voice comes drifting through the room. "Chris?"

"Mm."

"I snore when I'm drunk."

Chris chuckles sleepily. "Don't worry," he says, with every bit of affection he feels. "I won't tell anyone."

Another moment of silence, and then Zach touches Chris's cheek. "Thanks."

"Anytime," Chris says, and means it.


End file.
